We Belong Together
by redhead evans
Summary: Dumbledore's dead and Minerva is devestated. Her duties over, she goes for the ultimate ending. What can make her change her mind? ADMM oneshot


It had been a month. Not thirty years, as it seemed, or ten, or even three, or any other number that goes into thirty evenly. One month, just over three weeks. Even now it still seemed ridiculous that he was gone. That she was in charge, without him to guide her. That people were talking of him in the past tense, something that never failed to bring tears to her eyes, and that people offered their condolences to her for losing a friend, colleague, mentor and think that A) they were helping or B) that she would be happy to hear them go on about how nice and kind he was. Only her close friends were of any help, if only because they wordlessly offered a shoulder to cry on and had only said a simple I'm sorry once.

They had been married, she was now a widow, but the world hadn't known. The world would never know now, never see them kiss in public, or hold hands, or hug. They were just friends to the outside eye; that was how history would remember them. That, if anything, made the insincere, insensitive idiots even worse.

Still, she had put on a brave face, although sometimes she had had to practically glue it to her face, and shed only the occasional tear in public. No one saw behind a McGonagall's mask, no one saw them shed an unnecessary tear, and no one would. It was an amazing feat, looking back, that she hadn't just collapsed in the Hospital Wing when Potter told her the news. She had gone to Poppy's office to see if Albus was there, safe and sound, and had seen him on the way in. Knowing he wouldn't understand if she passed him up, she stopped and was told the news in a tone that was sad you lost a friend. That tone just wasn't enough for a lost husband but she fought grief and curtly left the Hospital Wing for the Quidditch Pitch, knowing Xiomara would gladly offer a shoulder without the witty remarks. So through the corridors she went, unshed tears in her eyes, through the whispers and pity-filled gazes, looking straight ahead and nowhere else through her blurry eyes.

Later she had climbed the stairs to his office, and their rooms, to be hit with the lemony-chocolately scent that was him and the noise of portraits gossiping loudly. They silenced when she walked through the door, alerting her who they were gossiping about, and continued through the room, practically smothering under the pity and concern in the room. And they knew! Those bloody portraits knew! She wordlessly entered her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, her calm, rational façade cracked beyond repair. She cried herself into a dreamless sleep.

Poppy was there the next morning, gently shaking her awake, sitting patiently through another wave of tears, before gently ushering her out of bed and into a shower. She dried and brushed her hair, waiting for the tears to stop before helping Minerva with her make-up and walking down to breakfast. The staff said nothing as she sat down in her usual seat and Xiomara, Poppy, and Sylvia sat down around her. She sat curled up in his office all day long, eating only at the persuasion of her friends.

The pattern passed, mostly the same, for the rest of the time. Every day was spent in his office, still not changed, or their quarters, which still had his robes lying discarded on the floor of the bathroom. The fact that she was the only one that could help Harry was the only thing that kept her from loosing it completely.

Two more weeks passed and Voldemort attacked Privet Drive in what would become the Final Battle. As the Order rushed to the rescue, Minerva let her pain and anguish rise to the forefront of her mind and began taking it out on others without a care for her wellbeing. She returned to the castle, tired and unhappy, having turned down the invitations to celebrate and climbed the stairs to the Eastern tower. She was seldom ever up there, especially since it was Albus' special place to go when he was upset or sad, and hadn't after his death because of the memories. Now she didn't care, her life had reached a low and she wanted nothing but to wallow in her own anguish.

She sat, tears coursing unchecked down her face, and stared at the stars for some time before she realized that her duties were over. Harry was alive, Voldemort dead, she had no further obligations. She wanted nothing more than to be with him and started the brief internal struggle over her fate. Suicide was calling her name, even though her brain knew it wouldn't help matters, it was running away and not Gryffindorish, but the heart had some sway over matters. It was said that love made you irrational and having it slip through your fingers so suddenly made all rationality fly out the window. She stood, determined to throw herself from the battlements, and took a few steps forward, looking down when she heard a small crunch. She bent down for a closer look, surprised to see it was the chain of a locket, and noticed a note under it in a loopy, familiar hand. She stifled a sob and opened it.

FLASHBACK

He climbed to the top with a heavy heart. Today was his day to die; he knew that more certain than one could with Divination. He had tried to tell her, to make her see and cherish their moments together, but she had refused.

"_I will **not** let you say goodbye like you are never coming back Albus Dumbledore! I absolutely refuse to believe it!"_

There was no way to make her see sense so he had come up to leave her a gift, knowing that she would blame herself for letting him leave without a proper goodbye. Hopefully this would help ease the pain.

He quickly attached a few papers and stuck them to the floor, adding an official document stating that they were married, a secret that could be told even when he was gone, his wedding band, and a locket pensieve full of his cherished memories for her to keep forever. He stared at the inscription once more before turning and leaving, ready to face his fate.

END FLASHBACK

She opened the locket and bravely stuck her hand into the silver swirl of memories.

Some time later she was spit back out onto the cobblestones of the tower floor, flat on her back. She made no effort to get up, instead choosing to curl up into a ball after throwing the chain around her neck and slipping his ring onto her thumb, remembering the times she had laughed at his small fingers and now grateful for them. She started to cry as she looked at the locket once more, noticing for the first time the inscription. She didn't even bother to stifle the sob that escaped her lips as she threw herself back into her self-imposed ball, crying furiously.

_Apart in body, perhaps in spirit, but never in heart or mind._


End file.
